


We Deal, We Deal

by ThatSeance



Series: UA Character Study [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus really doesn't catch a break, Marijuana, Mental Breakdown, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Suicidal Thoughts, f to five, sort of canon-compliant with liberties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSeance/pseuds/ThatSeance
Summary: How to survive past the moment in which your brother dies a horrific death, by Klaus Hargreeves.Step One: Don't.Step Two: Down as many pills as it takes for you to sink under the water without even noticing.Step Three: Don't scream when he appears as a ghost, but feel like you should, somewhere deep inside.Step Four: Pretend it doesn't hurt when everyone doesn't believe you.Or, Klaus isn't good at waiting around.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: UA Character Study [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644136
Comments: 7
Kudos: 180





	We Deal, We Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else ever just, accidentally write an almost 8k word character study about an event in Canon that almost everyone writes about? Just me? Hmm.  
> Klaus just does not get a break, ever, at all. We can all pretend it mysteriously gets better but, it's rough. Also, can I even characterize Klaus? Debatable.
> 
> Forewarning: Every Single Person is kind of an asshole in this fic. No one is entirely innocent. Except Ben, I suppose. 
> 
> Also, tw for: Suicidal thoughts, scratching as self harm, and rape/non-con threats. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

Day 0:

It's not really red, is all Klaus remembers. It's always red when he gets back, when  _ he's _ sobbing about monsters and loneliness, when Klaus has to help wash it off him. He's always seen red, and associated it with him, associated it with his pain and his heartbreak and his loneliness. But this time, it's not red at all; it's black, it's pitch black, as if someone has taken the darkest night and painted it across the linoleum floor. Except it's not beautiful. It's horrifying, it's gore-y, and laying in the middle of it, silent and still, is Ben. 

There's screaming behind him, and he can't tell if it's the deceased or if it's someone alive, someone just as horrified as him, someone else who thinks "if you're going out I want to go with you, please take me with you". He doesn't care to turn around, he just stares forward. At some point, his knees had hit the ground, and now there was black splattered across them, but it hardly registered in his mind. He blinks, and blinks again, and tries to converge the idea of Ben, his Ben, with the bloodied mess scattered across the floor in front of him. He's not even whole. The tentacles are gone, but he's still missing an abdomen, and it should make Klaus feel nauseous but he already feels the tendrils of numbness creeping up his arms.

Someone approaches behind him and places an arm on his shoulder. He doesn't acknowledge it. He continues to stare, until the someone holds a little tighter and puts an arm underneath the other arm in an attempt to get him to stand up. He goes willingingly, but doesn't move his eyes. Until finally, the someone turns him around forcefully, and he's face to face with Diego, even though all he can think about is the body behind him, the body that is gone, that is dead, oh god-

"Hey, K...Klaus, c-c'mon, s...s-snap out of it." Diego snaps in front of Klaus's face.

He blinks a few times before responding, "I'm fine."

Allison appears from behind Diego. "Klaus… I'm so sorry."

And suddenly, a grin, that might have shown up as a grimace spreads across his face and he replies, eyes wet, "Sorry? What for? I'll see him again any minute now."

* * *

It's an irony, really, that he's five hours, six minutes, and twenty-four seconds sober, and that it's been just as long since he saw Ben's corpse splayed across the floor. Maybe it's not irony but rather the world's sick sense of humor, because his hands started shaking around hour three and they haven't stopped since. His head is pounding. He doesn't remember a moment before the overwhelming ache in his head, but some small part of him finds hope in it; maybe it's his powers, maybe Ben is manifesting soon, maybe it's worth something. 

By the time hour seven hits he's beyond exhausted, head jerking up every few minutes. He slaps the sides of his face in order to keep himself awake. He doesn't want to be asleep when Ben gets here, because he'll be scared, so scared, and Klaus has to be the older brother here and comfort him, not let him turn into the vicious spirits that spit venom or spend every lasting minute screaming into the oblivion. His fingers drum across his knee before he jumps up and starts pacing across the room, counting each step: one, two, six steps to get to one side of his room. He repeats it until the numbers lose meaning and he's lost exactly how long he's been waiting for Ben but it feels as if it's been half his life. 

He itches for something to quell the bubbling anxiety swelling in his chest, something to take the edge off of everything. But he can't risk it, can't risk blocking out too much. He's the family disappointment but he won't deny anyone, mostly himself, the relief of at least knowing Ben's still there, still present. 

A ghost is mumbling in the corner but Klaus picks at the blanket beneath his legs. His eyes feel heavy. The world has taken a sort of unreal quality, and he's so tired. His head tips back, before he jerks it back up, before repeating the process until his head no longer moves back up. 

* * *

Day 1:

"Did you see him?"

Klaus peels his eyes open to peer at Luther, who blocked his path in the hallway to the breakfast table. He blinks dumbly for a few seconds, fatigue dripping from his bones, before the events of the previous day trickle back into his mind. He slumps and mumbles, "No."

Luther's eyebrows furrow. "Can't you summon him?"

"Not how it works, numero uno," Klaus mutters, ducking underneath Luther's arm to continue his trek to the dining room, "and if it was, believe me, I would have done it by now."

When Klaus arrives at the table, it's clear that everyone is dying to ask the same question: Where's Ben? Do you see Ben? Is he here? Why isn't he here? Why are you such a fuck-up Klaus, that you can't even see your own brother? All he wants to do is scream back at them that he's wondering the same thing, that he would do anything to see his brother in this moment. But the world around him stays suspiciously devoid of ghosts, and it takes all of his strength not to collapse onto the dining room table.

Vanya sneaks glances over at Klaus when she thinks he isn't looking, but he's not  _ dumb _ . He stares down at his plate and tries not to glance over at the empty chair, empty plate, next to him. And even though he just told Luther otherwise, Klaus tried for the hundredth time to summon Ben to that exact spot, to sit down in the gaping hole left within the family dynamic. The empty seat Five left still felt like an absence in the timeline itself, like something went wrong somewhere and they were all living in the worse universe. Klaus could already feel the repercussions of Ben. 

No one says anything though until Head Hargreeves approaches the table. He doesn't even sit down before he asks, devoid of all tact as always, "Number Four, have you summoned Number Six?"

Klaus's hand scratches his exposed knee between the shorts and the socks. He wants to put on his ripped jeans, the ones with the holes on the knees, and a skimpy shirt, and go out somewhere far, far away from the Hargreeves household. "I haven't summoned  _ Ben _ , no."

"Number Four, you are excused from your lessons in order to rectify this issue," Daddy Dearest spoke, tone dull and yet filled to the brim with his special brand of disappointment. And it was it's own fucked up irony that he still felt his chest clench and his brain scream at him. The guilt lay heavy in his chest. Why couldn't he get anything right?

Klaus hisses under his breath as the skin on his knee gets progressively more raw before responding, voice laced with fake cheeriness, "well, won't that just be fun? Should I just, pop down to the basement, start a summoning circle? Chant around the spot he…. Or maybe I should just go over to the mausoleum, see if anyone's seen him, because guess what?" Klaus stands up in his chair, eyes skirting around to the occupants at the table. "Fun fact, ma famille, spirits don't like being summoned. And if I do get somewhere, they tend to scream their heads off. So, good luck, with whatever you want to tell Ben, because he probably won't even listen. He probably won't even understand, because he was  _ ripped _ to fucking  _ shreds _ , because dead ol' Dad doesn't know when to quit. Now excuse me, I'm going to go somewhere that Ben won't find me, and maybe you'll all stop pretending he'll just reappear the way he was the moment I see him. Alright? Alright. Fun talk, everyone."

His chair scrapes across the wooden floor as he pushes it backwards, before he turns around and almost runs out of the room. His head is screaming (or maybe it's the lady in the corner with her head bashed in, he can't tell). He ignores the eyes that follow him, and he ignores the noise around him, and he ignores what he knows will happen because he blew up on Sir Reginald Hargreeves. He ignores it and finds himself locked into the upstairs bathroom with a baggie in his hand and the serious idea to hotbox the room. But he doesn't, because he's the same as every damn fuck-up in this family: he wants to see Ben. He so, so desperately wants to see Ben, and he can't stand the idea of his ghost never manifesting because of him. So he shoves the weed back into the bright blue teddy bear and sits on his windowsill with his legs hanging out. He tries to ignore the man whispering frantically in the corner of the room. He tries to ignore the gargling sound that's coming from the limping figure below him. He tries his hardest to ignore the idea of joining Ben, wherever he is. 

* * *

Day 2:

The funeral is in four days. Klaus only knows this because Vanya cornered him and told him, in the half-hushed tone that she always occupies, that she heard Allison talking about it with Diego. And it both zaps the energy out of him and ignites anger in his chest because he should have been the first to know, he should have been the first to know. But when has he ever been the first to know anything? He thanks Vanya, just as quietly, and all it takes is her look of concern for him to turn around and take the first door out of the library.

He grimaces as he slouches again the hallway wall, head hitting against it with a loud thump. He feels a little bad about Vanya, he thinks, but he's not sure what he feels about the increasingly loud noise around him. He feels so, so nauseous, and he clutches at his shirt like it'll help. The family was always split into their cliques, a survival method, different little groups to keep their sanity. It was always Luther-Allison-Diego and Ben-Five-Klaus-Vanya, even with their little subgroups of Five-Vanya and Ben-Klaus. But little Five disappeared, and suddenly it was Ben-Klaus-Vanya. At least, they tried, but really it was Ben-Klaus and Vanya. And now Ben is gone, too. And it's Klaus and Vanya. He should bridge that gap. He knows that. But his head hurts and all he wants are a few pills to make his full-body tremors go away, and it's hard to think about anything else. 

He hears footsteps approaching, and he mumbles, with his head resting on his knees, "if you're here to ask if I'm fine, I'm peachy-keen, Van."

"It's not Vanya."

Klaus's head swoops up to meet eyes with Diego, who has his hands tucked into his pockets like he's about to ask an invasive and terrible question. And Klaus sighs, because he knows this look, knows it's about to lead both of them to things they don't want to hear.

"Look…. I just want to sa-," Diego stutters through the next few words, "I just want to say I'm sorry for what happened to Ben. But-"

Klaus blinks slowly at Diego. "But what?"

Diego looks pained. "But…. It's your whole power. Summoning, and, and, seeing ghosts. Why can't you ju-j-just…" He waves his hands around to finish his sentence.

D and him have always been the sort of bridge between the two groups. Klaus wouldn't call them  _ close _ , because he wouldn't call anyone in this family  _ close _ , but they weren't outright hostile most of the time. But still, that whole side of the family demonstrated something that little Five had called "ignorant idiocracy", which had made 11-year-old Klaus laugh but made 17-year-old Klaus sigh in agreement (at least, to the little voice in the back of his head that said the same thing, which sounded suspiciously like little number Five). 

Klaus pushes himself up on the wall. "Aw, how cute. D thinks he knows my powers better than me. How 'bout we swap, just for the day? I'm sure you could work it out a million times better than I ever could. And I'd get to do some cool knife-throwing. Really a win-win, hmm?"

Diego is silent for a moment, before muttering, "maybe I would."

Klaus is halfway turned to walk out of the hallway, but at that statement, he turns around, eyes incredulous. "What?"

"Look, it's a well-known fact by all of us now that you don'- you have a  _ habit- _ and well, I'm just saying-"

"You're saying that you think you could summon Ben."

"I mean, just th...think about it. If just, for once in your life, you would just fo- focus on something instead of sneaking out and get...ge...getting high, maybe, may… maybe you could get something done."

Klaus blinks once, then twice, as something sits heavy in his stomach. His arm itches again. There's a woman behind Diego with her neck bent sideways and he imagines a world in which he didn't have to deal with this. "I'm glad you have so much faith in me, D." He laughs bitterly. "Maybe I have been focusing. Not like you've been paying much attention, huh? Too busy gossiping with Allison about Ben's death. 'Hey Ali, I heard we're burying Ben in a week!' 'Hmm, don't you think that's a bit soon?' 'I don't know, I've never really questioned shit when it comes to Dad!'"

Diego rolls his eyes, and it sets Klaus's skin alight. He continues, "Really, any time you want it, you can fucking have my power. I don't want it. And maybe I don't want Ben here. Maybe he's moved on. There's more than just- than just  _ my little habit _ , as you call it, that's keeping me back. And I've been sober for three days! So fuck you, Diego." Klaus takes that moment to turn on his heel and run off down the hallway, taking the first exit he sees that isn't the library. He doesn't think about the Diego he left behind, except for when the other boy shouts after him, "Bet that'll end soon."

* * *

He hates proving Diego right, for multiple reasons. Firstly, it makes him unbearably smug, like he just created the cure for cancer. Secondly, he always makes Klaus feel like the shittiest person on Earth when he brags about it. So when Klaus finds himself outside the attic window, sitting on the fire escape, a joint burning the skin between his fingers, he vows to himself that Diego won't find out. 

But it's such a relief everytime the blunt touches his lips and he inhales the smoke and it's like every part of his body melts. And really, he could be succumbing in much worse ways, so truly, this is a success in some ways. In other ways, he feels his chest crumbling as he takes in another way he's the family disappointment. 

He sort of feels like he's drowning, like he's been sinking underwater since he saw Ben, on that marble floor, and he's wondering, has been wondering, why he isn't dead yet. He takes another hit. What's another, and another, when his lungs are just filled with water?

Something moves out of the corner of his eye, and he sighs, inhaling the smoke harder. He wants all the spirits to be gone, but it's all a game of futility, with them waiting until he's tried his hardest to come rushing back in. He tries to ignore it until it's yanking his shoulder and says, in Luther's voice, low and dripping with displeasure, "What are you doing?"

Klaus tilts his head back, a giggle lifting itself out of his chest when he meets Luther's eyes, with his eyebrows furrowed downwards, as if it made him intimidating. "What I should have done three days ago."

Luther knocks the blunt out of his hand and Klaus's heart jumps up into his throat. "What the fuck dude, that was my Indica, that was the good shit-!"

"Have you just given up on Ben? Just like that?"

Klaus is tired. Klaus is so, so tired. "And what if? What if I have?"

Luther growls, slightly, like a lion cub imitating its father. "You don't get to decide whether or not he manifests."

"Then who does? Him? You?" Klaus laughs, full body, as if someone had just told the funniest joke alive. "Have you thought about something, Luther? Maybe he doesn't want to come back. Maybe he doesn't want to show up again at this shit-show of a family! Maybe he's moved on!"

Klaus can tell he hit something in Luther, with the glint in his eye, but Luther yells right back, "Maybe he wanted out, but that doesn't mean he won't still be here!"

Klaus stands up and twists out of Luther's grasp, turning towards his face just as a few tears slip out. Dread spikes in him at the admission of weakness, but he pushes it back down and yells, "He's moved on Luther! He's gone! He's dead! Stop pretending he's just going to show up one day! He doesn't want to see you, he doesn't want to see Dad, he doesn't want to see  _ any of us. _ We all fucking killed him, that day, and he was ripped apart like fucking lunch meat, and we all just watched! He isn't coming back! I've never summoned a ghost, and I never will, and you all need to  _ stop pretending _ ."

Luther is deathly silent after Klaus's rant. His face flickers between aghast and furious, which Klaus supposes is fair. For all his attributes, he was never anything but a little bit blunt. He climbs back in through the window, bumping his knee against the sill, and maneuvers around Luther, who's still stuck in place. He's halfway through the door before Luther mutters, from somewhere deep in his throat, "It should have been you and not him, Four."

And maybe it's the use of the number, or maybe it's the tone, but Klaus's hand balls into a fist. Another tear trickles down his face and without turning around, he whispers back, "I know."

* * *

Day 3: 

It's around two a.m., or three, or four, or maybe five. Klaus gave up trying to keep track around the fourth shot and the second pill he took. He feels dizzy and delirious, but in a good way, not in a ghost-induced-haze way. This bar in the seedy part of town knows him, knows him well, between the bouncers that hardly glance at him before letting him in without an ID to the patrons who like handing him things when he flutters his lashes and pretends like he's never had a single drug in his life. It's a shtick they all partake in, even though they all know it's false, even though they know all they're getting from it is a dance with him and maybe a light if he's feeling generous. It's the tight-rope he walks on, between flirtatious but disinterested. They all know he's here for drugs, and they supply. It's an easy game. 

He stumbles out into an alley at what he assumes is around six, judging by the sun just beginning to peak up around the horizon. He giggles at the idea of Dad or Luther's face when he stumbles into the house, finally, probably around midday and he pulls out the blunt he'd stuffed into his pocket that someone had offered him earlier. It's a little crooked but he lights it anyways as he leans against the brick wall behind him. He's ignoring his problems again, but with the screams lowered to murmurs he doesn't know if he cares anymore. 

Someone slumps next to him and murmurs for a light. Klaus obliges, barely holding his hand out before the next minute it's pinned up above his head. It takes a moment for him to process what's happening as his other hand is pushed against the wall two. The man leers over him, and Klaus recognizes the look in his eye: power-hungry.

"Look man, I just came here to smoke, if we could just, y'know, go our own ways, that'd be great-"

"Shut up." The other man growls, pressing both of Klaus's wrists into one hand as the other one snakes down towards Klaus's jeans. Klaus blinks for a few seconds before he starts squirming, the reality of his situation starting to settle in. The man chuckles, slipping his fingers into the waistband. "Such a slut, really knows how to tick a guy off."

Klaus struggles. "This has been fun, but really, I gotta go, things to do…"

The man pinches Klaus's hip hard as he says, "Look, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. And the way your ass has been begging for it all night, I'm sure we'll come to a mutual agreement."

The other man almost makes it in-between his legs before Klaus's knee slams against the other man's groin, sending his hands flying off Klaus's wrists, which is all he knees. His palm slams into the other man's nose as he stumbles back, but he doesn't get so far as to hit the ground. Klaus is just about to run when the man bursts back towards him, his own hand slamming into Klaus's side. Klaus grunts and doubles over for a moment before pulling himself back up. He's been trained half his life for moments like this, even if he wasn't the best at it. He slams his hand into the man's solar plexus before punching the man just below the eye, sending him flying to the ground. What Klaus doesn't expect, though, is the sickening thud as the man's head hits brick. 

Suddenly he's left with deathly silence as the man's head before him becomes slowly drowned in red. And Klaus can't help himself when he compares this moment to the bank, to the moment Ben died, surrounded by his own blood. Nausea creeps up Klaus's throat and he starts to step backwards. He's never killed anyone before. Not once, not even…

Klaus is still high out of his mind but he stumbles out of the alleyway and into the phone booth on the main street and punches in three numbers. He babbles about a guy bleeding in an alley and the woman over the line asks him where he is. He frantically glances around before finding a street sign. He rambles off the words, butchering 'street' a few times. It doesn't really matter.

"What's your name?"

Klaus twists the phone cord in his hand. "Diego."

"Alright, Diego, there's someone on their way. Please stay on the line until we get there."

That's the moment Klaus hangs up the phone and books it out of there, glances surreptitiously around at the streets. There's hardly anyone out, only other drunkies and the people who like to scream at the sky (so, him as well), but he still feels stares prickling the back of his neck. He never truly got into the fights his father orchestrated when he was younger. He had never killed someone, never even gotten close. But that moment, out there… what would Ben think?

* * *

When he gets home that night, he doesn't even close the door to his room before he's lighting a joint. He flicks the lighter- once, twice- and it flickers against his fingers where he misses the joint. He doesn't feel it. He gets it lit, finally, and he inhales it all at once, desperate and so, so numb. It washes over him at once, setting his fingertips aflame but all the same settling the dread in his chest, and he barely remembers to crack open the window and grab his walkman before collapsing onto his bed, music blasting louder than he could ever remember it. He doesn't know what the song's called. He takes a hit, and wishes he couldn't remember anything at all.

For all his efforts, the dread and guilt and fear dredge up in his chest and he has to tuck his hands underneath his back to keep them from shaking violently. It's not enough, not enough to cater to his appetite tonight, which demands something harsh and painful, because the world feels too soft in the face of what's happened the past couple of days. He's angry, he thinks, but too numb to do anything about it. He jerks up suddenly and tucks a hand in the crack between his bed and the wall. His hand flies across the edge until he finds what he was looking for: a plastic baggie with his meager pill supply that he actually keeps at home. He tries to save them, for moments he needs them the most: 1 pill every time he comforts Ben after sessions, 2 after the mausoleum. He dumps four into his hand and dry swallows them before collapsing again.

He spends the next hour staring at the ceiling and scratching at his wrist, head spinning until he can barely breathe. Which is good, it's what he wants, but it isn't enough. It overcomes him, this need for more, this insatiable appetite that reminds him of Them, and it makes him feel so, so sick. He, once again, pushes himself out of bed and starts shuffling through his things, yanking out drawers and searching behind his dresser. He finds two Adderall, three nighttime medicine pills he's sure he was saving for something but can't remember what, another bag of weed he promises himself he'll get to later tonight, and another small baggie of about five pills that don't have any labels or meaning. He downs all the pills and tosses the weed onto the bed. He stumbles over to the closet and yanks a sweater off the hook, the one he used to share with Ben. He rips off his shirt. The sweater replaces it in quick succession. It's soft; still too soft. 

Something moves in the corner of his eye and his body jerks sideways, eyes wide, hope filling in his chest. His mind is already chanting: Ben, Ben, Ben. But disappointment quickly takes its place when it turns out to be a normal haunt; a woman with half her jaw missing, who likes to moan about it in the half-garbled speech she still retains. He moves his hands up to push the headphones closer to his ears and he squeezes his eyes closed, already hating himself for getting hopeful so soon. He peels them back open long enough to sit on the bed, back against the headrest, before he closes them again, a small whimper escaping his throat.

The sweater is so soft. And the walkman changes to something slower, a song he feels he should recognize but doesn't, only fills with thoughts of Ben, Ben, Ben, and he breaks, finally. His chest heaves in and out and he can't breathe but everything comes out at once, and he might be screaming, and it all crashes onto him like waves in which he feels everything, nothing, something that feels like a dagger to the throat. And it doesn't stop, for minutes or hours or seconds. Until he's just sitting there, shivering, headphones knocked off his ears, faint screams echoing in the background. It's almost like silence, to him, and it's unnatural, and he wishes it was, wishes he wasn't real, wishes everything in the last three days wasn't real, that he could wake up from this stupid dream and put on a skirt and parade into Ben's room and make him sigh and smile and laugh and do anything that would indicate he's alive, he's breathing, he's okay. 

But Ben isn't. He's not okay. He's dead. Permanent, never-going-to-appear, dead. 

Some part of him is glad, in the soft, brotherly sense, that Ben isn't a ghost. He knows what ghosthood does to the souls of the dead, he knows how it tears down their personality one by one until there's nothing left but a screaming hollow shell. He doesn't want that for Ben. At the same time, a deeper, more selfish side of him wishes that he would show up just so that Klaus could just see him again, could talk to him again, could erase the never-ending picture of Ben on the floor ripped half apart from the back of his eyelids. 

He stumbles out of his bed, the world turning half sideways, and he pushes himself towards the door. He's carrying his walkman with him as he finds his way into the hallway, bashing his shoulder on the doorframe on his way out. He hisses, cursing under his breath, before turning towards the bathroom, only to meet the eyes of his sister, Vanya.

She stares at him, with her big, owl-like eyes. He stares back, because the world is warping around her and he feels like he can see her hair moving on it's own. She whispers to him, voice low, "Where were you today?"

Klaus giggles. He can't help it. He moves forward, stumbling a little, and whispers back, "my own special retreat."

Vanya's lips downturn, like they always do when Klaus's voice is a dead-giveaway to just how high he is. He grins back at her, as if his smile will make up for the lack of hers, and keeps going, "you wouldn't believe how gullible some people are, if you just look young enough. 'oh you've never had Molly? Well here!' it's like the world's your own personal drug dispenser." He chuckles, again. "I think my actual power is my charm, y'know. Look out Allison, I'm coming for your place as the most manipulative!"

Vanya is still silent, and Klaus shifts in place, trying to find a way to make the atmosphere less awkward, less suffocating. There's still dry-tear marks on his face, and he knows Vanya's looking at them through what little visibility they have. She speaks, suddenly, breaking through the silence, "Have you seen him yet?"

Weight settles back down on his shoulders and he looks away from Vanya, to a crack on the wooden floors that looks like it's winking. Vanya and Ben were closer than she ever was with him. He whispers, like it hurts to say out loud, "He isn't coming."

Vanya blinks. "What?"

"He's moved on. He would have appeared by now. He's not- he's not coming. He won't. He doesn't want to be here, with us, with-" He chokes a little on the word, "me."

Vanya doesn't seem to know what to say. She shuffles her feet a little, before pushing her hair out of her eyes. They both stay in silence, before Vanya, finally, responds, "I don't understand. Why?"

Klaus sighs. He runs a hand across his face. "Because not everyone becomes a ghost, okay, Van? Not everyone wants to, not everyone can. Like Five. I've never been able to summon him. I've never been able to summon anyone important, V, so just-" He tugs at his hair. "stop asking."

"But if you-"

Klaus snaps. "As if you'd know anything about it. Shut up, Van, unless you've suddenly got some ghost powers that make you a part of this conversation."

Vanya's eyes fill with tears before she turns and runs into her room, her door still closing silently. Klaus is left alone. He stares at the spot where she just was and tries not to let what he just said settle in his stomach, but it sticks as a lump in his throat. He continues his trek into the bathroom and starts running the water, barely flinching at the sound. He goes through the motions of preparing himself for the bath and soon sinks in the water, submerging himself instantly.

And if he stays under for far longer than necessary, until the black creeps in around the edges of his eyes, well, that's between him and god.

* * *

Day 5:

"Look, Allison, he's too fucking high, and he admitted himself Ben isn't coming."

"Language."

"I just think…. Why wouldn't Ben show up?"

He can hear Diego laugh. "Why would he? Would any of us really come back to this family?"

"It's better if he doesn't. Dad wouldn't want to see him, after  _ that _ ."

"Yeah, because Ben really cared about what Dad wants."

"Both of you, listen. We can't just give up on him like that."

"You know what Klaus said, Allison. He doesn't see him. It's been six days. If he'd been able to see him, he would have by now."

Allison sighs. "You're right, I guess, I just…. I miss him."

"Klaus was never going to be the most reliable one for this."

"He never even saw Five, either, so there's no way he'll even see Ben. Honestly, even if he said he had, it would be weird- since when has Klaus done something that  _ wasn't _ for attention?"

"The funeral is tomorrow. If he pulls a stunt, Dad won't like it."

"Dad doesn't like anything he does."

"I mean, what's there to like?"

"Diego!" 

Klaus doesn't remember much, the rest of the day. He wishes he never would.

* * *

Day 6:

The funeral is in exactly three hours and twelve minutes, which Klaus has kept track of with annoying persistence, even for him. He doesn't know what else to do, besides dig through his closet for something in his closet to wear that Ben would have liked and count. All of his uniforms are discarded across the floor and he's holding up a black skirt to his legs, turning this way and that to see how it looks. The movement is lackluster. He can barely breathe, much less focus on the task before him. He slips the skirt up his legs and laughs, something watery in his eyes. He'd first worn this skirt in front of Ben, who'd rolled his eyes and muttered something about how pleated long skirts were ugly. Klaus had stuck his tongue out at him, at the time. They were twelve. Simpler days. 

He turns, again, and starts digging through his closet, trying to ignore the ghost of a man who'd taken refuge there. He'd kept away from his closet for weeks the first time he appeared, but well, needs must, and all that. Klaus digs and finds a pink boa, one he hadn't seen for at least over a year, and he drapes it around his neck, the hot pink a massive contrast to the rest of the black on him.

"That's hideous."

"Well, I think it's gorgeo-" Klaus freezes as he stares into the mirror. In the reflection, behind him, there's a figure, slightly darker than the light around them would suggest. His knobbly knees are exposed, but the uniform he wears is drenched in blood, though none of it is dripping. There's a massive hole in his midsection. He flickers in and out every few seconds, but he's there. The sight makes Klaus nauseous beyond belief but also swells his heart up in his chest as he turns around to meet the eyes of his brother. "Ben."

"Hey, Klaus."

Klaus runs the short distance across the room to meet him, but his arm passes right through his brother's shoulder. Something shatters in him, even though he knew better. Instead, he steps back, and looks at Ben, eyes searching his face, before a grin grows on his face. "You're here. You're really here. Benny, oh my god, I didn't- I thought-"

"Where else would I go?" Ben groans a little as he flickers in and out. "It's not like anyone else sees ghosts."

Klaus giggles. "You don't know that."

Ben raises an eyebrow. "If you want me to leave, you could just say-"

"No!" Klaus's hand darts out as if to grab Ben's wrist, but he aborts the movement halfway through, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly in midair. "I mean, I just… You're here."

Ben's eyes soften. "I'm here."

They spend a moment soaking in each other's presence, each of them almost on the verge of disbelief, before a loud knock at the door jolts them both out of it. "20 minutes," Luther shouts through.

Ben turns to Klaus, confusion across his face. Klaus laughs, a little, the sound sour. "Funeral."

"Already?"

"Well, you know how Daddy Dearest is. Never mourns long. Or ever." Klaus jumps up and starts digging through the clothes on the floor again. "I need to find something to wear-"

"Wear that." Ben says, soft, but doesn't move to point at anything. 

Klaus looks down at the skirt, the vest, and the boa he's wearing, before glancing back up at Ben. He can't look for too long without thinking of that day, remembering all the blood surrounding him- "This?"

Ben makes a sound that sounds like agreement. Klaus shifts a little before nodding. He moves towards the door before giving a little "oh!" and digging a blunt and lighter out of the front pocket of the vest. He clicks the lighter and ignites the joint, taking a hit before he pauses, fear bubbling in his chest. He turns back towards Ben, who is still there, but hasn't moved from the spot. "How am I seeing you when…well, I'm not exactly sober."

Ben snorts. "You think I know?"

Klaus flaps his hand at Ben. "Right, right, ignorant dead person, got it." He takes another hit. "You ready to go see Dad spout some nonsense?"

Ben, finally, turns his head towards Klaus. "Are we going to tell the others?"

"About what?" Klaus blinks at him, bringing the joint back up to his lips. 

"About… Me." 

"Oh. Oh!" Klaus chuckles as he dances over to the window and cracks it open. "Right. We'll tell them. No guarantees, though."

"Of what?"

Klaus turns back to Ben. "I don't… I'm the resident crackhead of the family, right? They might not…"

"They'd be dumb not to."

"Well,  _ yeah _ , but not all of our siblings are smart, Benny, I'd think you'd know this by now." Klaus winks.

They both laugh, Ben's a little more hesitant and broken, and Klaus can't help but feel a little dread set into his chest. Ben is here, and he's elated, but he's already starting to wonder when he's going to turn into-  _ those _ . The spirits that lose their sanity. Most do. And then they never shut up, not even late at night when all Klaus wants is a momentary escape from the world, not even when Klaus is screaming back at them. Klaus thinks, maybe, he should be screaming right now. But he doesn't. 

Klaus strolls over to the door before Ben suddenly interrupts, "is that my sweater?"

He's out the door before any more questions can be asked.

* * *

As soon as Klaus steps into the courtyard, something in the middle draws his attention. He steps towards it, just as Ben shouts, "What the fuck?"

In the middle of the courtyard is a life-size statue of Ben. Or at least, Klaus assumes it's meant to be Ben, but it hardly looks like him- more like an idealized version of his younger self. Like one of the dolls, from the collection that used to exist, back at their peak popularity. Looking at it makes Klaus feel sick. He looks back at Ben, who had flickered into existence only moments after Klaus walked into the courtyard, and was now staring down the statue as if it had personally offended him. 

Klaus crouches down to look at the plaque. "May the darkness within you… find peace within the light?" He reads, squinting at the dark writing. "Well isn't that… cryptic."

"It's condescending."

Klaus glances back at Ben, whose face has downturned into something ugly and angry. Fear spikes through Klaus's heart as he stands up to approach Ben. He holds his hand out and shakes his head, muttering, "It's just Dad being Dad. Not worth paying attention to."

Ben still looks perturbed, so Klaus moves towards the rest of the group, of whom all but Head Hargreeves had appeared. Luther looks stoic as always, but can't seem to meet statue Ben's eyes; Allison is fiddling with her phone in her hand and glancing around every half second; Diego is unsuccessfully trying to talk to Mom; Vanya is standing off the to the side, staring down at her feet. Everyone is mostly quiet, everything turning into a background buzz. Klaus takes a deep breath, but hesitates at the face of breaking this moment. 

"There's never going to be a good time."

Klaus turns his face towards Ben, who appeared next to him. "I know I just… It's been almost a week."

Ben stays silent for a moment. "I'd prefer you say something before Dad gets here."

Klaus swallows before bobbing his head jerkily. He turns back towards his family before coughing a little, fiddling a little with the boa around his neck. It makes his neck itch, but it's comforting in the moment that his siblings all turn their eyes towards him. Diego has his eye raised, and Luther looks almost like he knows what Klaus is going to say. Klaus's hands twitch. 

"Hey guys… well, uh, awkward timing, and I know I've been kind of…. stand-offish, this past week. Uhm. Anyways, this morning, well… Ben finally manifested. About time, right?" He chuckles awkwardly, trailing off when no one joins him.

It's silent for far too long, and Klaus starts itching at the inside of his wrist, eyes darting over to Ben and then back at the rest of the group, before Diego breaks the silence, venom clear in his tone, "Can't you go one fucking day, Klaus?"

Klaus steps backwards, like he'd been slapped. "Wait… what?"

"Just because you want attention doesn't mean you get to make stuff like this up." Allison snaps. "He was our brother too."

"I'm not… What?" Klaus blinks, and takes another step back. His breaths are coming in shallower. 

"Stop lying," Vanya adds in, and it feels like a punch to the gut. His heart hammers in his chest as he takes a step towards her only for her to turn her head away. 

"Vanya? Guys? What the hell? I'm not, what are you-"

"And you're high, too!" Luther says, hand clenched at his side. "Dad isn't going to like this. Can't you take one thing seriously?"

Klaus's voice is small. "But Ben…"

"Ben isn't here, dumbass! Stop pretending!" Diego spits, and something in Klaus breaks. He whimpers, just a little, and his feet carrying him backwards. Diego continues, "You come in here wearing that ridiculous outfit, and you're high out of your mind, and you expect us to believe you? You never summoned Five, and you even told us you did, so why the hell would we believe you about Ben?"

Klaus sputters for a moment. "I was- I was thirteen! What the fuck?"

"Yeah well, you haven't changed much since then."

"Shut up!" Ben snaps from behind Klaus, but no one else moves, no one else hears it, and Klaus feels like his chest is caving in on itself, like he's surrounded without a way out and there's no where to go, no where to run, like he's in the mausoleum again-

"Just… get the fuck out of here. If you're not going to respect him, leave." Diego shouts one last time before turning away. 

"Guys I'm right here! Stop saying that shit about Klaus, that's not, I'm right here-"

"They can't hear you, Benny," Klaus's voice is barely more than a tremor. He steps backwards again, in the face of his siblings' venom, before turning and running. He doesn't stop, not when he hits the hallway, not when he meets the front door, not when he's five blocks away from the house and breathing like he'd just run a marathon. He keeps going, and going, and doesn't stop until his feet hit grass and he slams himself against a tree. He slides down to his knees and hiccups, tears streaming against his face. 

He stays like that for a while, until there's nothing left, until he's bent down and screamed into the dirt until his voice was hoarse. He feels just like every ghost he's ever met and he feels sick. Everything is crashing onto him like waves and he's drowning, he wishes he was drowning, he wishes he were  _ dead _ . 

"Fucking assholes." He hears Ben, suddenly, and Klaus turns towards the voice, tears dry on his face. His brother is sitting on the ground next to him, still darker than the shade would suggest. "It's literally your fucking power, why wouldn't you see me? What the fuck!"

Klaus shrugs, and picks at the grass below him. "They're… they're right. I'm not. I didn't think… well, you didn't show up for six days, and I, I…"

Ben is angry. Klaus can feel it coming off of him in waves, like he's exuding his own energy. It's the scariest thing he's ever seen, because it's the same energy that the ghosts in the mausoleum give off, except a little faded. He can't lose his brother to that. He can't. Klaus chuckles, the fake tinge unavoidable, and tosses some grass into the air. "Fuck them anyways. I'm leaving tonight."

The air around Ben shifts. "What?"

Klaus grins, ear to ear, and it's a little more genuine. "I'm running away. Or well, we're running away. You and me, Benny, just like we always wanted."

"Where are you going to go? What are you going to do? How are you going to pay for anything?"

"I'll figure it out." Klaus shrugs again and shifts his skirt on his knee. "I can't be in there for another minute. Maybe I'll go to Germany. Or Switzerland. Or somewhere in Africa! I've heard they know how to party."

It's Ben's turn to giggle, which makes Klaus's smile turn more genuine. He almost moves his hand to knock Ben in the shoulder, but stops and instead, sends a wink his way. "We'll make it through, Benny, just you watch."

"Don't get your hopes up."

"Well, if you don't, someone's got to, right?"

"You're the one running away from the house."

"Hey." Klaus shakes his head and puts his face right in front of Ben's, pretending the desperation that claws at his chest isn't roaring. Ben is here. He's dead, but he's here. He isn't leaving again. "It's both of us, Benny-boy. You're not getting rid of me again."

"...Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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